A Court of Black and Blue
by aspentree11
Summary: After three months of being locked back in Tamlin's court, Feyre is still struggling to free herself. Between Rhys's desperate decisions, Lucien's growing hatred, and Tamlin's suspicious coming to rise, Feyre has to find a way to save not only herself but the entire world. (post ACOMAF)
1. Feyre

She had never felt so cold. Laying here, naked – next to _him_. Only a year ago she would've relished this moment, tucking herself closer to him and trying to melt into his warmth until he had the energy to go again. She had thought, despite her love towards Rhys, it would be easy to pretend to love him. All she had to do was smile, hold onto him whenever he grew close to her, and please him at least once or twice a week, right? She did it once, it couldn't be too hard to do it again.

But it was. Maybe it was because she already had a mate so she felt a traitor to her own body, or maybe it was the hate that vibrated out of her whenever she felt his touch. She had told herself that pretending to love him were just physical actions, but it felt like she was sticking a knife into herself over and over again.

"Why aren't you asleep?" Feyre whirled around quickly, locking eyes with Tamlin. He was propped up with his elbow now on his pillow, looking down at her as he ran his fingers up and down her arm. His words, despite leaking with concern, came out as an accusation rather than curiousity. "Surely, the nightmares…"

"I told you," she said, trying to keep the sharpness out of her voice but failing, "I don't have them anymore." He frowned.

"Feyre, it's been three months," Tamlin whispered, pain aching in his voice. "Please, talk to me. Tell me your pain." _You didn't care about my pain the last time I was here_ , she wanted to shout. But she took a deep breath.

"I just…"

"Are you starting to remember?" Tamlin continued, more anxiously now. "Are you starting to remember what that wretched coward did to you? I hear you talk about it in your sleep, Feyre. You can't lie to me forever." She bit her lip.

"I do remember some of it," she admitted. "But I'd rather not talk about it." His fingers, which had stopped caressing her and now began coiling around her tightly, were starting to cut off her circulation.

"I'm bringing a High Priestess to my court tomorrow," he blurted half-heartedly. She ripped away from his instinctively, flipping herself to face him fully. He exhaled.

"What? Why?" On her arm, though invisible, the High Lady of the Night Court tattoo burned painfully, reminding her of the secrets she was still forced to hide. "Do you…do you not trust me?" He eased up from his pillow, daring to look at her fully, but the darkness in the room concealed her facial expression.

"I don't want to, Feyre, I really don't, but Lucien made a good point. You can't heal until you release all the memories that are buried in your unconscious. Those memories are still there, eating you alive, you just don't know it," Tamlin said, shrugging, "He thinks it may help you reach some closure, and I think he's right." She gritted her teeth angrily. _Lucien._

To be fair, it wasn't Lucien's first victory against her. Ever since she came back he hadn't stopped being suspicious of her. She had tried winning him over as well, but he was too clever to see through her lies. He was the one that made Tamlin press her for answers. _What was the Night Court like? How did Rhysand manipulate you so well? How could you, the fiancée of the High Lord of Spring, ever mate with such a dark liar?_ Thankfully, Tamlin hadn't yet put his full energy into learning the truth, but a part of her wondered if Tamlin would've taken her back anyways, even if he knew that she hadn't been manipulated by Rhysand and had proved to be in love with him. So, really, the truth was irrelevant to him. He was only pursuing this to help her mental stability.

"It won't take too long," Tamlin soothed. "Only about twenty minutes." She hesitated, trying to keep calm. Because what choice did she have? If she continued to lash out, Tamlin would grow suspicious.

"If you want me to," she heard herself say, "I'll do it." She could nearly feel Tamlin's smile as he began to rub against her arm again, kissing her forehead.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I love you."

~discidium~

"Let me guess, she's sick again," Lucien's voice drawled, his eyes not even meeting the figure in his doorway. Instead, his eyes ran across the book in his hands, lounging on his bed as the sun shone through his window, hitting his red hair so brightly that it almost looked blonde. He was hoping – no, determined – to read it by lunch time. It would probably happen, if only people left him _alone_ this early in the morning. It was only a few months ago that he would be hunting this early in the morning, but that seemed to be the least of his priorities lately and yet people still didn't catch on. "Don't you think it's a bit coincidental that whenever she doesn't want to do something she then claims that she is sick?"

"What book is it this time?" He heard his High Lord ask in retort, though he knew that he wouldn't care anyways.

"It's just another one of those old mortal books," Lucien said, still not looking up. "I'm trying to read all of it – trying to understand these mortals. I'll need to if- _when_ I find my mate again. If I understand the mortals in these books, I will definitely be able to understand her." He could feel his High Lord's disapproval immediately, almost making him feel ashamed. But they both knew that reading these mortal books every morning was the only thing that was keeping Lucien sane. All he ever did was think of his mate, wondering if she was safe, dying to know if he'd ever even lay eyes on her again.

"Who says you won't be able to understand her anyways?" Tamlin countered. "Mortals aren't too different than us, you know. You don't need to read books day after day to-"

"I thought we were here to talk about Feyre," Lucien snapped coolly. Tamlin frowned but refrained from scolding him because he, out of everyone in the house, knew exactly how it felt. All those months without Feyre nearly drove him mad.

"Actually, she isn't sick this morning," Tamlin countered. "She's downstairs, waiting for the High Priestess." Without hesitating, Lucien dropped the book in his lap and bolted up right, surprise flickering in his eyes.

"She's downstairs? Talking to the _high priestess_?" Lucien asked. Tamlin nodded.

"I told you that she isn't hiding anything," Tamlin said, coolness running in his tone now. "She's willing for us to look into her memories. She is on our side, Lucien." Lucien opened his mouth to contradict, but then he was interrupted by a loud, but very sharp, popping noise. Like a bursting bubble, except a million times louder.

Tamlin met Lucien's eyes.

"I guess the High Priestess is here," Lucien sighed and he closed the book lazily.

~discidium~

She still didn't have a plan. They had seated her in a wooden chair in the middle of the sitting room and all three circled her like a prey about to be devoured by a group of wolves. It didn't scare her, though, just made her angrier. _How was she supposed to get out of this? How could she say no?_

She didn't bother putting on anything else other than her pajamas with a robe layered on top, in hope that it would shoot a message to Tamlin, but he didn't seem to care. He, unlike her, was wearing all his hunting gear, as if his weapons were needed to get out her inner most demons.

Lucien, on the other hand, was dressed more like her – casual, less anxious. But she saw the lines that now etched across his face from the countless weeks of stress and the cold glare that mocked her bitterly as she sat on the wooden chair like a helpless animal. _I know your secrets_ , his eyes said. _And I will make you burn_.

The High Priestess was far different than either of them, though. She had an extremely tiny frame, almost as if she'd break to pieces if she took a wrong step, and had long glassy hair that flowed down her back. Her irises, going from blue and fading to green, stared at Feyre in wonder. She wore a long, velvet red cloak, but under it was casual wear.

She had appeared out of nowhere, having some unusual power of winnowed that Feyre had never witnessed a High Priestess have.

"How did you-" Feyre had started to say, but the High Priestess ignored her.

"My High Lord," The High Priestess said, bowing her head towards Tamlin. Feyre had to stop herself from scuffing. "Hello, Lucien. It's been a while. And _you_." Her blue-green eyes twinkled down at Feyre, looking at her as if her mere existence intrigued her.

"The cursebreaker," The High Priestess said under her breath. Tamlin tensed instantly, his hands in fists.

"She is not the cursebreaker. She is Feyre and she…she…" Tamlin's eyes dimmed as he looked at Feyre. "She needs your help." The High Priestess looked up at him mildly, little emotion on her face.

"How can I assist you, My Lord?" She asked, but Feyre heard the strain in her tone – like a hidden annoyance, or maybe a hint of despise. And by the look in Lucien's eyes, so had he.

"You have heard of the rumors, I assume? Of Rhysand's actions?" Tamlin said, quite awkwardly, as if he was embarrassed by it. By _her._ "My comrade, Lucien, believes that if we can uncover some of the memories of her horrible abduction, then maybe she can have some closure." The High Priestess's lips tightened, as if she were thinking.

"I don't need it!" Feyre interrupted. "Tamlin, my love, please don't put me through this. I love you, I want to be here with you, I-"

"I know, beautiful," Tamlin said, rushing towards her and cupping her chin with his hands. "But I love you too, which is why I think we need to do this." Feyre's eyes latched onto the High Priestess's, begging her with one look, but the High Priestess didn't reflect a single emotion. Completely unreadable.

"I can do it," The High Priestess responded, her eyes not tearing away from her. "But I'll have to have a separate room." Tamlin took a step towards her.

"No, we do it here!" Tamlin said immediately, and Feyre noticed how Lucien's eyebrows knitted together curiously. "I don't want her to be alone while you-"

"Relax, My Lord. I can promise you that she will not be hurt during the procedure," The High Priestess said softly. "I just need her in an isolated environment so that I can concentrate on her mind and her mind only. And after I get all the information I need from her mind, I'll tell you what I saw. Is that okay?" Tamlin was quiet for a moment, but then he nodded.

"Please, go outside," The High Priestess continued, her voice as sweet as honey sickles, "It'll be better that way. No distractions." Tamlin nodded in agreement and with great dislike, grabbed Lucien. Lucien tried tugging away from his grip as they walked towards the doors that went to the backyard.

"Tamlin, are you crazy? Are you nuts? What the h-" But then the door shut behind them, silencing their voices as they walked away from the door. There was a moment of silence, but when Feyre turned towards the High Priestess again, she was snarling.

"If you get near me, I'll kill you," Feyre promised. "I have a knife-" But when she went to her robe pocket, she realized it had, mysteriously, vanished. Her eyes widened, looking back at the High Priestess and watching her reflect a smug smile.

"You will not be hurting me, Feyre Cursebreaker, or should I say the _High Lady of the Court of Dreams_?" The High Priestess hissed. Feyre's eyes widened. Without a second to spare, she tried jumping from her seat, but then invisible reigns pulled her back into the chair harshly.

"Let me out!" She bellowed, kicking her legs. "Let me out right now! You will not go into my mind! If you do this, I _will_ kill you!" The High Priestess shook her head.

"Relax, would you? Do you want your beloved fiancé to come back in here?" The High Priestess pointed out, glancing at the door worriedly. Feyre stopped for a moment, seething.

"How do you know who I am?" Feyre said in a low voice. "My tattoo is invisible."

"Because I serve the Court of Dreams," the High Priestess responded impatiently. "I was sent here by an anonymous source."

"Who? What anonymous source?" Feyre asked. "I demand you tell me!"

"An _anonymous_ source," the High Priestess said, emphasizing anonymous. "To warn you." Feyre's eyebrows pushed down, her nose flaring in defense.

"Warn me? Warn me of what?"

"That your beloved mate is getting courted," The High Priestess said. "By four different women to be exact." Feyre blinked at her stupidly.

"I hate to break it to you, but I'm-"

"Not his wife," The High Priestess said. "Not his consort. Simply a second person who rules next to him, who, coincidentally, hasn't been in his court for three months." Feyre, not knowing what to do, spat at her, nailing her straight in the face. The High Priestess gasped in disgust and stumbled back.

"How _dare_ you come to my prison and tell me my mate would ever be disloyal to me? He…" But then her voice vanished. It was a fear that had recently spurred in her in the last few days. It had been three months and she still couldn't find a way to communicate with him, no way to love him. What if he was tired of waiting? What if he was lonely and found someone else? She was right. They weren't married.

"And what? You think he's going to marry one of them? You think he's going to choose another girl over his mate? He loves me. He wouldn't do that. It's unheard of to pick someone else over their mate," Feyre said. The High Priestess pursed her lips.

"Not when they're desperate," The High Priestess hissed. Feyre glared at her.

"He's been at war for two and a half months," The High Priestess continued. "He has exhausted his resources." Feyre huffed.

"You don't think I already know that? Tamlin talks about it every day, but he still fears him! No matter how many resources he's exhausted, he always finds more!" But then a sad shadow reflected in the High Priestess's eyes.

"He's exhausted all of them, My Lady," The High Priestess said. "And he has no allies. He has opened himself to potential courters, simply to drive this war and win you back. If he marries, he will have infinite resources, and will therefore free you." The salive in her mouth had vanished, and all she could feel was her heart beating fast. _Rhys. With another woman._

"Tell me what I need to do."

 **Please review! I'm sorry for any grammatical/awkward errors. Review, tell me if you like it and if I get reviews I'll add more!**


	2. Rhys

Hollering from the crowd below him rang in his ears as he slowly walked up the crooked stairs. His hood, black as night, covered his face perfectly, and apart of him wondered why he ended up this way. What happened to just getting a beer? Why did he have to take it this far? But the majority of him, the beast, didn't care. He wanted to forget. He wanted to feel better. He needed some, ah, _release._

Behind him, a female voice interrupted his thoughts, "What's the occasion, Milord? A birthday, a-"

"Theres a name that I need to forget," he said snappily.

"Of course," she replied.

When he reached the uppermost floor, he turned to the nearest door. It was tattered and old, with a few cracks around the edges. It had probably been there for a good hundred years, going through various purposes. He pushed it through, leading the female figure behind him into the cold, dusty attic. There was scratches along the floors, nearly all of the furniture was broken, and there was a small window overlooking the village. He took a deep breath and turned towards the figure behind him.

"Put this on," he said coolly, tossing a red, lacy bundle to her. She caught it and undid the small, lacy bundle, smirking.

"Very beautiful," she commented as she shed her old clothes, slipping into the lacy cloth. "Do you want me to-?"

"Yes. Get in front of me." The girl went around him seductively, tickling his fingers as she brushed against him and stood in front of the hay-filled bed. He took a few steps back, leaning against the creaky door. Below him, he could still hear the hollering from the ground floor, and even the moans coming from the levels below him.

"Is this good, Milord?" The young lady purred after she put on the lacy cloth, a one-set lingerie that barely covered her boobs and stretched to her private parts. As Rhys evaluated her at a distance, his lips tightened. She had caught his attention first because of her tallness. She wasn't near as tall as Rhys, but she was tall for a lady. Her golden-brown hair twisted on top of her boobs, shining brightly even under the dim light of the attic. Her grey-blue eyes looked at him seductively, but something held him back as he stared at her. Instead of the ghost-pale skin that Feyre had possessed, she was far tanner, and had a slight scar on her cheek.

"How much?" He demanded after a moment, his fingers stroking his chin as he continued to look her up and down again.

"With the lace and the private room? Twice my normal price," she told him, twisting her hair around her finger. Not like Feyre at all. Feyre didn't play with her hair.

"Deal," he heard himself say, taking off his clothes and taking two large strides before pouncing her onto the torn-up bed.

~discidium~

"Where've you been?" The question was rhetorical, as the speaker had complete knowledge where Rhys's adventures lied this deep into the evening. He had just barely closed the front door to his house, the moon shining brightly overhead and hoped, disgracefully, that nobody was left in the house. He snarled immediately, already in defense as he swerved around and met eyes with the blonde figure on one of the nearby couches. He had hoped to ignore her, but her presence was inevitable lately.

"The brothel?" Mor went on. "While the rest of us are mourning Amren's sickness and praying to the cauldron that Feyre gets our messages, you were at the brothel." He rolled his eyes dramatically.

"And you spend your time either crying or reading magazines," he spat back cruelly, eyeing the still-open magazine lying next to her on the couch. "And Cass is doing cauldron-knows-what with Nesta right now and Az hasn't been seen for the last four-eight hours. Don't tell me that going to the brothel for an hour and a half is the least productive thing I can do." While he glared at her, her eyes were filled with tears. That's all she did lately – cry and cry and cry. She was the one who hadn't stopped bringing up the fact that Feyre was gone and would lash out when people took their minds off things. He guessed that he should be the one acting like Mor in the end, obsessive because of the absence of his mate. But if he lived that way, insanity would catch up with him.

It was easier to just use prostitutes.

"I just don't understand how, while she, your _mate_ , is forced to stay in a prison and have sex with a man she bitterly despises, you can go fuck other girls," Mor said, but before she could even tear her eyes away he was in front of her.

"Don't you _dare-"_

 _"_ 'While you're doing whores, she's practically being forced to be a whore," Mor continued bravely. "What happened to you? For two months you were obsessive about finding her and then you-"

"I ran out of resources!" He yelled, so loud that she jumped. "Don't you get it, Mor? She isn't even getting our messages. I don't even know if she's alive! And now you're here, trying to guilt trip me, as if I have no idea what I'm doing. Well, guess what? You act like you hate me, but I hate myself more than anybody could possibly imagine." She blinked at him, sympathy slowly filling her face. It was probably the first time ever that he had let her in so deeply. Normally, he would just shrug her off, but now she saw his inner demons. Have broken he really was.

"Don't," Rhys said sharply, stepping away from her as she began to get up. "Just…"

"You can't give up," Mor said. "You don't give up. You never give up. You're Rhysand, the strongest High Lord to ever exist. You have never been the person to quit!" His fingers tangled into his hair madly.

"I have four forces going against me, Mor," Rhysand said quietly. "Four enemies. All attacking me at once. I may be the strongest High Lord to ever exist but I can't do that. I will die before I stop fighting, yes, but what about my people? Feyre wouldn't want that. She wouldn't want me to pick her over my people." He watched Mor swallow.

"So, I assume that you're going along with the plan then?" Mor asked. "Marrying someone, that is." Rhys was quiet for a moment, blinking at her calm face. But then he laughed, his loud bellows echoing madly throughout his large mansion. Mor shrunk back, her eyes looking at him worriedly. He was laughing so hard that his cheeks were beginning to be red.

"I'm now a bit worried now, Rhys. What…What did you do?" But her words didn't meet his ears. He continued to laugh, pacing in front of her.

"Marrying someone?" He laughed. " _Marrying_ someone? Shit, Mor. I thought you got less dense through the years," Rhys said throughout his fit of laughter. "You couldn't have honestly believed that I was going to actually do that? Do you? I truly am out of resources but I still have a mind. There are far better ways to get allies. Blackmail-"

"Rhys."

"Manipulation, human warfare-"

"Rhys."

"False promises, being someone's fuck buddy-"

"Rhys!" He stopped talking and looked at Mor's tearful face. She was hugging herself tightly, as if trying not to be taken away by his madness.

"It was a _lie_ , Mor." He stated plainly. "A big, fat lie. I'm not going to actually marry someone. Just let the entire world _think_ I am."

"But you have four different proposals."

"And?"

"Why would you-" _Knock._ Both Rhys's and Mor's heads swung towards the door, looking at it curiously.

"Did someone just-" _Knock, knock, knock._ Rhys rushed to the door, half in annoyance and half in anticipation. Because nobody ever knocked on his door. Nobody. One, because nobody had the falls, and two because…well, why would anyone want to willingly see him? He was known for melting people's minds and kidnapping their brides. Wasn't that a big enough warning?

But he swung the door open, prepared for the worst as if hand was already at his hilt, but then the small figure came into view.

"Vale?" The Priestess, a fragile young lady who reminded him of a black cat due to her feline mannerisms, walked through the doorstep. He watched as she glided into his mansion, slowly standing next to Mor. Mor's lips pursed and grew closer to her, but Rhys lifted his hand up.

"Don't, Mor. This is the priestess I hired months ago, Vale," he said, though unsure if she was truly working with him. "Months ago. And then I heard nothing back from you, Vale." Anger that he had forced himself to forget about rose quickly, suddenly angry about her disappearance. "Are you just now telling me that you fulfilled you duties and infiltrated the Spring Court? Because if so, you missed a vital part of who I was hoping to see you, her name starting with an _F_." Mor looked at him like he was insane.

"You honestly thought of getting Feyre out of there? Especially how it ended so horribly the first time? Rhys-"

"I have an invitation for you, High Lord Rhysand of the Night Court," the young girl interrupted. His left eyebrow went up, glancing at Mor quickly.

"I'm listening," he drawled.

"The High Lord of Spring would like you to meet him for dinner tomorrow night," The girl continued. "No weapons, no threats, no trouble. He wants to settle an amicable truce because, just like you, he doesn't have any resources to give either. But he does have one exception."

"Yes?" He heard himself ask.

"You must bring Elain," the Priestess demanded. "And _only_ Elain."

Kinda slow so far, I know, but I wanted to get Rhysland's POV first and a bit of whats in his head.


End file.
